


Turn You On

by Sass_Master



Series: Dream of Now [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, Future Fic, Human Castiel, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-04-30 23:05:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5183012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sass_Master/pseuds/Sass_Master
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean doesn’t even bother with clothes when he emerges. He crosses the room and flops face-down on the bed, fresh from the shower and gloriously naked. Castiel wants to <em>touch</em>, wants to taste every part of Dean’s soft freckled skin. </p><p>Dean catches his gaze, expectantly raises an eyebrow. Castiel recognizes it for the unsubtle invitation that it is. “You just gonna stand over there?” Dean drawls, thighs parting further, ever so slightly.</p><p>“Of course not,” Castiel says calmly, “In fact, I was thinking of getting my mouth on every last inch of you,” he adds, smile creeping onto his face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turn You On

**Author's Note:**

> A kind of companion piece to [I'd Love To](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5182976). Fics in this series will be posted slightly out of order - check the part number so you don't get lost!

“I call dibs on the shower when we get back,” Dean announces when Castiel swings by to pick him up from the sheriff’s station.

“Of course,” Castiel replies instantly. He had no intention of fighting Dean for it. They’d both showered this morning in the motel, but Dean’s day had taken a decidedly messier turn than Castiel’s had. After dropping by the crime scene to gather basic information and check in with the local authorities, Dean was the one who ended up remaining there for the details, tromping down into the wet marsh where the body had been discovered and then hitching a ride with the sheriff to meet the medical examiner at the morgue.

Apparently, Dean had been treated to an even gorier show than he’d expected while she walked him through her autopsy findings. “I saw so much _intestine_ today, Cas,” Dean had told him over the phone earlier this afternoon, emphatic and utterly dismayed, by the sound of it. “I didn’t know people _had_ that much intestine.”

Castiel had sighed in solidarity but promptly informed him, “The length of the human small intestine averages over twenty feet.”

Castiel has no doubt that Dean rolled his eyes over that comment, but he’d laughed quietly too. “There was definitely at _least_ twice that.”

Castiel knows Dean’s skin is crawling by now, is so anxious to scrub himself clean that he’s bordering on desperation.

Castiel had a far less gruesome afternoon interviewing witnesses and next of kin. There was a time when Dean would have balked at the idea of him doing that on his own – and Castiel couldn’t even have blamed him – but he’s made a lot of progress in that area, admittedly proud to say it, and even prouder that Dean acknowledges it too. Many intricacies of socializing still escape him, but using it to work a case has a certain accessible specificity to it – he can compartmentalize it in a particular way, master key phrases and vital questions, approach conversation like a problem to be solved, one he can tackle with the right strategy. He knows those tactics wouldn’t suffice if he were actually trying to befriend someone, or… or looking to start a _romantic relationship_ , like humans so often are, but that’s a skill he has no plans to master. He doesn’t expect he’ll be needing to.

Castiel watches Dean fondly as he settles into the passenger’s seat – without even attempting to insist on driving – and he’s pleased to see Dean’s irritation melting away. Of course, odds are good that Dean was playing up his misery for effect.

On the ride back, Dean fishes out his phone to make a call. Sam’s stuck in the bunker fighting off a nasty flu and Dean asks him how he’s doing, fills him in on how the job is going, sees if there’s anything they can do for him, and vice-versa – Sam’s not feeling too unwell for a bit of remote research, can get a bit _bored_ without it, sometimes. Castiel can’t stop himself from sneaking glances at Dean through his periphery while he talks to Sam, and Dean catches his eye, offering him an easy smile when Castiel lets his hand rest on Dean’s leg.

That’s a sight that never fails to steal the breath from his lungs, the flash of Dean’s even white teeth, his eyes soft and affectionate. Castiel snaps his attention back to the road before he can get further side-tracked by Dean looking relaxed and gorgeous beside him.

Now that their relationship has been unambiguously disclosed to Sam, Castiel and Dean have been working more cases without him. This job certainly isn’t the first job they’ve worked on their own, but there’s an undeniable undercurrent of _newness_ to the arrangement. It’s nice that Dean seems more at ease with things between them now, after he’d put such strain on himself at the beginning, trying to push Castiel away, to deny his feelings. And once he’d embraced them, he still had to wrangle with the understandable fear of Sam seeing that private side of himself – and the only way around _that_ was to walk a precarious tightrope of secrecy, torn between longing and a stubbornly persistent skittishness.

Castiel breathes easier knowing that that part, at least, is behind them, knowing that weight has been lifted from Dean’s shoulders. It’s a burden that Castiel has tried his damnedest to ease, and it’s only one of many left to go, but that simply makes him more determined. He’s more than up to the task.

Dean starts shedding his suit the moment the motel room door swings open, snapping off his jacket like it’s insulted him and leaving it in a crumpled heap on the floor. He’s shirtless, pants hanging unbuckled and loose, by the time he shuts himself in the bathroom and Castiel hears him start up the shower.

Castiel takes off his own jacket more carefully than Dean had, draping it on the back of a chair. He stands at the table beside it and spreads out some of his notes and relevant evidence, looking them over while he unknots his tie, undoes the buttons on his shirt cuffs and rolls the sleeves up.

Dean doesn’t even bother with clothes when he emerges, almost immediately drops the towel he’s holding secure at his waist. Castiel doesn’t miss the interested once-over Dean gives him as he crosses the room and flops face-down on the bed, fresh from the shower and gloriously naked.

Castiel is naturally distracted by all that tempting flesh just out of his reach. He wants to _touch_ , wants to taste every part of Dean’s soft freckled skin. He leisurely takes in the lovely picture Dean makes – his broad, muscled shoulders, his soft middle and surprisingly slim hips. And, _just there,_ the charming curve of his legs, giving Castiel a glimpse of his pale inner thighs, always sensitive and yielding, where Castiel loves to leave a tender bite or two.

Dean catches his gaze, expectantly raises an eyebrow. Castiel recognizes it for the unsubtle invitation that it is, but he stays put – for now.

Dean huffs out a dry laugh. “You just gonna stand over there?” he drawls, thighs parting further, ever so slightly.

‘Just standing there’ is most certainly not what Castiel has in mind. “Of course not,” he says calmly, “In fact, I was thinking of getting my mouth on every last inch of you,” he adds, smile creeping onto his face. He means to reassure Dean as much as rile him further – he can see the slight apprehension reaching his eyes the longer he lies there, starkly uncovered, while Castiel observes, fully-clothed.

Dean’s cocky smirk falters but shakily settles back into place, the uncertainty shifting into something far more rewarding. Castiel loves that, how he can unbalance Dean, surprise him, and he’ll be exhilarated by it, pleased when Castiel rises to his teasing. It’s exciting that there’s still a sort of pleasant tension between them, one not completely resolved, even now – that he can look at Dean a certain way and elicit a squirm, a bitten lip.

“Yeah?” Dean asks, barely a breathy sigh, rolling onto his back to see Castiel better, to more flagrantly _display_ himself. “Well, you can’t do that when I’m all the way over here,” he taunts, grin shameless now, his cock stirring further when he notices he has Castiel’s rapt attention.

Dean’s not fully hard – not _yet_ , Castiel will see to that – but he’s more noticeably aroused than Castiel would have expected, and it leaves him wondering what Dean got up to while he was in the shower, what he’s thinking about at this very moment.

Castiel accepts Dean’s point and closes the suddenly unbearable distance in an instant, never truly entertaining any notions of resisting, not with Dean splayed out enticingly before him. He hastily sheds the rest of his clothing, adding them to the trail Dean left on the floor, and climbs onto the bed, bracing himself over Dean’s prone body. He can feel Dean smiling into the kiss Castiel bestows upon him, his hands grasping, pulling Castiel close.

It pleases Castiel to see Dean like this. Even without struggling to maintain absolute discretion at home, there is still an added easiness to Dean when he and Castiel are on the road, miles away from anyone who knows them, no risk of blood relatives overhearing their activities in the privacy of one of their bedrooms.

Castiel stretches out on top of Dean, gazes down at him, captivated by his shining green eyes, hooded and sparked with arousal, an underlying hint of carefree playfulness. He leans in to nip gently at Dean’s plush bottom lip and starts his path of exploration, kissing his cheeks, his stubbled chin, the underside of his jaw. He tugs at Dean’s hair until he exposes his throat to Castiel’s mouth. Castiel tastes the clean skin there, licking away the stray water droplets still clinging.

He only lingers a moment, so much territory yet to cover, mouthing his way down Dean’s collarbone, his firm chest. He grazes a nipple with his tongue, takes it between his teeth and glances up to watch as Dean gasps, eyelids fluttering closed. Castiel can feel Dean harden further beneath him, his hips bucking up, grinding his cock against Castiel’s.

Castiel draws back and takes Dean’s face in his hands, slots their mouths together in a thorough kiss, parts his lips for Dean’s eager tongue. One of Dean’s hands cups Castiel’s neck as the other slides down for a greedy handful of Castiel’s backside. Dean parts his legs wantonly, curling them up and around Castiel as he leans into him, presses him down into the mattress, rolls his own hips in a circle just for a tease, just to work Dean up even more.

Castiel hates to pull away, but he can’t resist sitting up to admire Dean again – his lust-dark eyes, the blush staining his cheeks, his slick red mouth. Castiel skims his palms along Dean’s neck, down past his abdomen, framing Dean’s hips in his hands. Dean writhes, Castiel’s hands in such proximity to where he’s straining for touch, leaking against his belly, but he doesn’t insist or demand, remains pliant for Castiel’s ministrations.

Castiel follows the path of his fingers with his lips, with his _tongue_ , sucking a mark into Dean’s soft stomach while Dean whimpers, but keeps still for him. Castiel is wickedly thrilled by the idea of leaving a bruise there, a dark red contrast to the fair delicate skin, a reminder of Castiel’s presence.

Castiel knows that Dean is anxious for more but he gives himself over anyway, as he so often does, secretly loving to put himself in Castiel’s hands, even if it means waiting. Castiel always tries to reward his patience, but he takes advantage of it now, urging Dean to turn over, back to the tantalizing view Dean had presented him with earlier. Dean goes easily, and Castiel thinks he sees a bit of tension leave his shoulders, relief that this is going in a direction he’d been wanting – Castiel knows what that is, now – and he didn’t have to ask. Castiel trails his fingers down Dean’s sides again and Dean tilts his hips up, pushes back into Castiel’s hands. He lets out a slow breath, uttering _Yeah_ , _yeah_ so faintly it would be inaudible if Castiel weren’t listening so closely.

Castiel likes that he can still look at Dean’s face this way, in profile where it’s turned against the pillow. Dean’s eyes are closed, long eyelashes fanned against his cheeks, lips parted on a gentle exhale.

Castiel presses his lips to the back of Dean’s neck, earning him a pleased sigh, and kisses his way back down. He’s caught off guard when Dean stirs before he sees what he’s doing, reaching over the side of the bed for his duffel, fishing out a familiar bottle and handing it to Castiel, the fetching pink on his cheeks darkening further. Dean is still reserved about this, about desires that touch upon the secret, buried parts of himself that he’s only begun to bring to light, with Castiel’s help. He has trouble asking for it, but Castiel’s getting better at reading Dean, and Dean’s getting better at utilizing non-verbal cues whenever possible. Castiel accepts the bottle but leaves it on the bed beside him, not in need of it yet.

He feels a thrill shoot through him nevertheless, knowing Dean is _eager_ for that, for Castiel inside him, even if he can’t say it out loud. Castiel palms Dean’s ass and squeezes, gently parts the soft flesh there as his mouth follows the trail down, kissing the small of Dean’s back, his tailbone, _lower_ —

“Uh,” Dean says, abrupt, “What’re—” he starts haltingly, seems to lose the thread of his question before it’s even begun.

Castiel answers it anyway. “I told you, Dean,” he says carefully, keeps the slyness out of his tone until he’s sure Dean isn’t truly uncomfortable, “ _Every last inch_.”

Dean shivers at the reminder. “I—”

Castiel doesn’t dare move any further yet, though he’s certain that the tension creeping into Dean’s frame isn’t borne of disinterest or disgust. “Dean?”

“You don’t have to do—” his breath hitches as Castiel presses a kiss to one bare cheek, “Uh, _that_.”

Castiel’s not surprised to see hesitation from Dean, the intimacy of this no doubt giving him pause, making him feel vulnerable.

“But would you mind it, if I did?” Castiel asks. “I _want_ to,” he assures Dean, voice dipping low as his own desire seeps in.

Castiel longs to look into Dean’s eyes, but they’re held resolutely shut as Dean considers this proposal. “I wouldn’t… _mind_ it,” Dean says at last, through gritted teeth.

Castiel strongly suspects that Dean’s deliberately understating his interest, unsurprised that he’s latched onto the indifferent terminology Castiel offered. It’s very much in Dean’s nature to feign reluctance or apathy, especially over things that many circles view as a bit _deviant_ – based on Castiel’s understanding of these matters – at least for the kind of man Dean tries to be.

But Dean’s working on overcoming those difficulties too, vibrates with _want_ as well as nervousness when Castiel palms him open again, bares Dean to his gaze. Just his breath ghosting over the sensitive flesh has Dean’s fingers tightening in the pillow.

The first touch of Castiel’s tongue is brief, experimental. Dean lets out a moan at the contact, the sound sharp and surprising, and Castiel instantly wants to hear more, wants Dean’s breathy, anxious sighs to dissolve into something primal, bubbling up from his chest. He pulls away for a moment, just to make sure there’s no protest from Dean, that he hasn’t actually misinterpreted. Dean’s still faintly trembling but makes no effort to stop him. When Castiel leans in again he pauses before fully closing the distance. Dean’s squirming catches his eye, and he doesn’t miss how Dean shifts his knees almost imperceptibly wider, holding his breath in apparent anticipation.

That’s the confirmation Castiel needs to taste him again, more deliberately this time, starting at Dean’s perineum and trailing up, up, _up_ , his pace painstakingly slow. Dean’s breath punches out of him again, and Castiel could never have predicted the sounds that would fall from Dean’s mouth, raw and broken, as Castiel gains confidence and spreads Dean further with his thumbs, attends to his task with broad, flat swipes of his tongue.

Castiel had only intended to begin with this, just for the novelty of it, just to see what it would be like to work Dean open with his mouth instead of only his fingers. He’d been looking forward to being inside of Dean, feeling the tight heat of him, his strong body beneath Castiel’s. But Castiel feels himself getting swept up in this, certainly not minding the turn of events – not with the way Dean is flushed and perspiring, grasping at the bedcovers, panting into the crook of his arm.

Castiel didn’t count on how Dean would react, how he’d _lose_ himself to this, once the nerves dissipated, arching back into it even as he twitches away, undulating in his uncertainty, wavering between propriety and pleasure. It would seem almost cruel to stop now, and Castiel is never one to deny Dean anything.

He doesn’t know if there are any tricks to employ, any technique or method that he should adhere to. He’s looking forward to learning, to discovering just how quickly he can make Dean unravel. But Dean’s sensitive here, always responsive to the touch of Castiel’s fingers, straining to part his supple thighs even further for Castiel’s efforts, for _more_.

Perhaps that – Castiel’s determination to push Dean into the heights of ecstasy, Dean’s increasingly unrestrained fervor for this – is enough to make it good, no matter how it’s done.

Castiel tries shorter flicks, the tip of his tongue delicately fluttering, coaxing Dean looser. He feels a surge of lust and pride swell in his chest at the way Dean’s melting into it now, apprehension all but left him entirely.

Castiel’s tracing circles now, fleetingly catching on the ring of muscle before he thinks to stiffen his tongue and tentatively slip the pointed tip _inside_. Dean chokes on a gasp – _Cas_ – his hips restlessly rocking between Castiel’s mouth and the mattress.

Castiel considers getting this back on their usual track, the one that Dean had been silently asking for, entertains the idea of working a finger in now that Dean’s wet and relaxed. But Dean’s _wild_ for this, and Castiel’s not about to stop now. But _yes_ , he’d love to try that another time, licking Dean open while he crooks his finger inside. He can’t even imagine the noises Dean would make.

It’s a heady feeling, to be able to reduce Dean to this with a few sweeps of his tongue – especially when, at first, he’d been a bit hesitant to enjoy it.

There’s no trace of reluctance now, and Castiel slips a hand beneath Dean, just to know how far gone he is, how much this is affecting him. Castiel finds him hard and leaking profusely, pulsing in Castiel’s loose grip.

Dean nearly sobs at the touch of Castiel’s fingers, pushes himself up onto his knees to better roll back against Castiel’s mouth, to rut gracelessly into his fist. Castiel thrusts his tongue in earnest, strokes it in and out and _in_ , as deep as he can reach, curls it just to hear Dean cry out.

He pulls back to take a good look, and Dean’s _sloppy_ with it, Castiel can’t help but reach out and feel how wet he is, rubbing with the pad of his finger, marveling at how that tight opening has begun to give and soften, just from this.

Dean’s skin is glowing hot, scratched up from Castiel’s unshaven face. Castiel _aches_ for him, wants to pin Dean down and slide into him, but he pays no attention to his own arousal for the moment, not indulging in anything beyond a slow grind against the bedspread as he dips his head once more.

Dean’s nearly at his peak – Castiel can tell by the frantic way he whines, broken pieces of expletives and Castiel’s name slipping out. He closes his lips around Dean’s slick, sensitive flesh and sucks gently, Dean’s moans pitched high and feverish.

“M’gonna come,” Dean whimpers, words slurred. Castiel’s ready for that, didn’t need the warning, but he feels the admission settle hotly in his stomach, anxious for undeniable _proof_ of the pleasure he’s giving to Dean. “ _Fuck_ ,” Dean chokes out, body snapping taut, his cock throbbing beneath Castiel’s fingers, spilling as he groans and shakes. Castiel keeps at it, still works his tongue in and out, keeps stroking Dean through the last feeble twitches, until he suspects that it’s too much, finally drawing away, shifting onto his back beside Dean.

Dean’s facing the other way, and Castiel reaches out to touch him, strokes his heaving back while he’s still gasping unsteadily, leans down and kisses the back of his neck.

Dean eventually calms a bit and rolls over, dragging a hand across his sweaty face, sneaking a glance in Castiel’s direction between his fingers, eyes widening almost imperceptibly when Castiel indelicately wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Dean exhales a shaky, “Jesus Christ,” and Castiel can see how he’s still somewhat ashamed but _exhilarated_ nonetheless. His cheeks are flamed red, perhaps guilty at how _thoroughly_ he enjoyed that, but there’s an unmistakable hint of a giddy smile threatening to appear.

He’s _beautiful_ – Castiel can scarcely believe he gets to do this, take Dean apart, put that soft burn of sated contentment in his eyes. Castiel’s sticky fingers wander down to his own neglected erection, running the length of it almost idly before he’s almost taken aback at the sudden urgency, how _hard_ he’s been this whole time.

Dean watches with interest but only lets Castiel carry on for a few moments before he cuts in, sidles up close and kisses Castiel’s jaw, fitting his fingers around his straining cock. Castiel groans at the contact as Dean works him over in a relaxed but unrelenting rhythm.

“ _Dean_ ,” Castiel gasps, and Dean’s right there with him, pressing against his body tightly, leaning in to whisper encouragements hotly in his ear – _Yeah, Cas, c’mon._

It’s another sort of thrill to know that even this is something he can give to Dean, that Dean likes it when Castiel enjoys himself too, when he… _gets off_ on doing the same for Dean. Dean hums in satisfaction all over again as Castiel tumbles over the edge, throbbing against his palm, coating his fingers. Dean kisses him through the aftershocks and Castiel cups his jaw and keeps him there long afterwards, so easily lost in the lush sweetness of Dean’s mouth.

Castiel takes a moment to drink in the sight of Dean stretched out beside him. He still looks _wrecked_ and oh, Castiel did that, didn’t he, drove Dean mad with pleasure using only his _tongue_. He resolves to do that again, whenever possible, absolutely revels in finding Dean’s carnal weak spots and exploiting them for all they’re worth until Dean’s spent and shaking.

His thoughts must show on his face – if the look Dean gives him is any indication – projecting something lustful and possessive and self-satisfied. He doesn’t even try to school his features into anything that appears more innocuous.

“You don’t have to look so pleased with yourself,” Dean mutters, and Castiel can hear the affectation, the way he forces himself to sound casually unimpressed.

“But I _am_ pleased with myself,” Castiel replies. He sees no point in trying to deny it, not when he’s positive that Dean is far less annoyed than he lets on. He leans in and steals another kiss, just briefly, pitches his voice lower when he withdraws. “I like making you come.”

Mostly, Castiel says things like that just for the sake of honesty, no sense of reservation when it comes to voicing sentiments that many people would often keep private. But he doesn’t miss the way Dean’s eyes will go hot over that sort of confession, how using certain phrases will result in dilated pupils and flushed cheeks, Dean nervously licking his lips.

Castiel can see the desire light up in Dean’s eyes at his words, although it’s muted now, urgency soothed in the afterglow. Dean lets out a short bark of a laugh. “Yeah, I picked up on that, believe it or not.”

Castiel actually manages to look a bit sheepish, lifting a hand to Dean’s face, letting a few hushed moments pass. “It was good for you, though, wasn’t it?” he asks eventually, tone sober, his thumb tracing Dean’s cheekbone. Castiel knows this sort of sincerity sometimes makes Dean uneasy, but Castiel can’t help it, needs the reassurance that he’s taking good care of Dean.

Castiel can see how _ridiculous_ Dean finds that question, his expression a clear enough reflection of his answer. Castiel would be content with that, but Dean squares his jaw in determination, lets his gaze soften when it meets Castiel’s. “Yeah, Cas,” he says, low and intimate as he curls in closer, “It, uh,” he pauses, clearing his throat. “It was awesome.”

It’s hard for Dean to rise to Castiel’s level of raw earnestness, and Castiel feels a strange sort of _pride_ that Dean will make the effort to do it anyway, that it’s getting easier for him each time.

Castiel smiles, nosing at Dean’s pulse point, places a kiss there. “So you won’t tell me I _don’t have to_ next time?” he teases, echoing Dean’s words. That’s the best approach sometimes, soothing Dean’s anxiety with lightheartedness when ‘talking about _feelings_ ’ gets to be too much.

Dean lets out a startled burst of laughter. “Yes, you _asshole_ ,” he grumbles, betrayed by his grin, playfully shoving Castiel away. Dean pulls back entirely, grimacing as he sits up and catches sight of the sticky smears still dotting their skin. He sighs dramatically. “Y’know, I was actually clean for a while there,” he says, throwing Castiel an accusatory glare, although Castiel suspects that Dean doesn’t mind this particular mess quite as much as he pretends.

Castiel can feel a smirk tugging at his lips, but he suppresses it, tries to keep his face carefully blank. “I’m sorry,” he deadpans, “The next time you decide to _flaunt yourself_ in front of me, I’ll just ignore you.” It’s an obvious joke, an empty threat – even now he can’t take his eyes off of Dean’s nakedness, even more appealing now, his limbs loose, Castiel’s marks interspersed with Dean’s freckles.

“You’re such a dick,” Dean fires back, not quite managing to conceal his fondness, to suppress his smile. “I don’t know why the hell I put up with you.”

Castiel arches an eyebrow. “I could offer a few possible reasons,” he says, smile broadening into a lazy grin, reaching out and tracing a bite on Dean’s hip, a pointed reminder.

Dean’s blushing again, but he rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Yeah, okay, _stud_ , I get the point,” he snickers with a lop-sided smirk. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

And Castiel will admit to some smugness, but he’s constantly in awe of what they share together, _humbled_ that he’s allowed to be with Dean this way, considers it a privilege to be cherished. “I won’t,” he says simply. He’ll never get complacent with this, can’t imagine reaching a point where he thinks he’s finally done all he can to make Dean feel good.

They both smile as Dean scoots closer and kisses him, lies down beside him again. A silence falls, not exactly uncomfortable, but it stretches on too long for Dean to just let it hang there. “So,” he drawls, looking at Castiel expectantly. “Pizza?”

Castiel has a vague memory of being hungry when they’d come back to the motel room, before Dean had proven exceedingly _distracting_. “Excellent idea,” he agrees.

Dean beams at him. “Call it in while I hit the shower?” he asks, planting another quick peck on Castiel’s lips. He starts to haul himself off the bed and saunter towards the bathroom before Castiel can even respond.

Castiel would make a joking remark about how entitled and demanding Dean is, but that’s something he can’t even fake exasperation over. Truly, it warms him to the very core when Dean feels he can ask for things, even when they’re of no real importance beyond being what Dean simply _wants_.

“Get pepperoni,” Dean calls as the bathroom door shuts with a click. Castiel shakes his head but dutifully reaches for his phone to place the order, listening to the water running.

He lies there for a minute or two, wondering if he has enough time to join Dean before the pizza arrives, when the door jerks open again.

Dean pokes his head out, perfectly dry, and scoffs when he sees Castiel sitting there contemplatively. “Take a hint, dude, even I don’t need _three_ showers in one day,” he says. “Get your ass in here already.”

Castiel doesn’t need to be told twice, drawn in as if by gravity, lured by the promise of Dean’s skin slick against his own, Dean’s voice warm and languid in the ear.

And if they end up unintentionally scandalizing the delivery person when their food arrives, Castiel is already prepared to leave a generous tip. It wouldn’t be the first time.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [tumblr](http://sass-master-stina.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/bisexualpudding). 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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